


Nor Shall Death Brag Thou Wand'rest In His Shade

by biextroverts



Series: The Bisexual Clara Memorial Project [6]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, References to Shakespeare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 19:58:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8174123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biextroverts/pseuds/biextroverts
Summary: Clara Oswald and Martha Jones have been studying for far too long.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Gratuitous Shakespeare, because what can I say, I'm in Hamlet right now (and I was going to pull the title from Shakespeare anyways).
> 
> Title is from Shakespeare's 'Sonnet 18'.

          Clara traced a fingernail lightly over the string of  futhorc  letters, as if the action could somehow render the mysterious incantation before her comprehensible. It was, as it had been the first dozen or so times, a futile effort. She wasn't allowed to use a translation spell on it, either for obvious reasons, although at this point she was sorely tempted to say “screw the rules” and do it anyways.  _ Nastily Exhausting _ was right.

          With a drawn-out exhale, Clara dropped her book in her lap and flopped back on her pillow, closing her eyes lightly and throwing a hand, palm up, over her brow in a theatrical display of exasperation. She let out a long, low groan, and blinked wearily up at her girlfriend, who sat, absorbed in her Arithmancy textbook, at the foot of the four-poster bed.

         “What's wrong?” Martha asked, looking up. Her brow furrowed and her lips pressed together; her eyes wavered with concern.

          Clara groaned. “Words,” she said. “Words, words, words.”

          Martha chuckled. “Right then, Shakespeare,” she said, setting her own book neatly down beside her and kneeling over Clara's distraught form. She grew serious again. “Really, though. Do you need me to take you to the Hospital Wing?”

          Clara shook her head. “No,” she said, her voice coming out hoarse from the disuse of the past several hours. Even her most studious friends hadn't believed her when she'd told them she and Martha were going to lock themselves up in the girls' dormitory and _study_ , but then again, her friends didn't know Martha nearly as well as she did. There was a reason the girl wasn't in Ravenclaw, despite her brilliance, and that reason was the sheer force of Martha's work ethic. It had to be magically augmented; no one was naturally able to study for as long or with so much focus as Martha, not even Clara herself.

          “Do you need me to get you anything, then? A glass of water? An aspirin?

          “You're such a muggle.”

          Martha shook her head. “I'm practical. Besides, you were raised as muggle as I was, magical mother or not.”

          Clara stuck her tongue out. “It's in my blood.”

          “Mine too,” Martha retorted, “or else I wouldn't be here. Recessive genes, Clara.”

          “ I haven't taken a science class since year six.”

          Martha sighed. “Do you need anything or not?”

          “Nah,” Clara admitted. “Not unless you know what the hell this means.” She propped herself up on her elbows and drew her Ancient Runes textbook up the length of her lap, flipping it over to show Martha the phrase in question. Martha tilted her head and pored over it, frowning.

          “No idea,” she said, sitting back on her heels. She sighed. “Arithmancy's not easy, either. I swear some of this is calculus, which they never gave us a foundation in; I'm getting math lessons via owl from my kid brother.”

          Clara laughed. “What do you say we take a break?” she asked. “I swear, we have been working for so long it's probably not healthy. If they found out, they'd revoke your healer's license before you've even got it.”

         Martha rolled her eyes, but smiled. Even the suggestion of a break had visibly relaxed her; her shoulders fell back  and she allowed her spine to give just a bit from the ramrod straightness it had assumed. The muscles in her face slackened, and she nodded vigorously. “A break sounds great.” Martha stood up, rolled her shoulders forward and back a few times, and stretched her arms over her head, wincing slightly. Clara quirked an eyebrow at her. “I'm stiff as a board,” she said by way of explanation.

          “Ah.” Clara hauled herself into a sitting position  and leaned forward slightly, watching Martha stretch with just the barest hint of a fond smile on her lips. Martha was observant, though; halfway through a lunge, she looked up suddenly at Clara and raised an eyebrow.

          “Enjoying the view?”

          “Well enough,” Clara responded with a sweet smile, not allowing Martha to ruffle her feathers. She stood and took a step towards Martha, who stepped out of her lunge and righted herself, eyebrow still raised. “It's just …” Clara smirked, “when I said we should take a break, I didn't mean for aerobics. Not  _that_ kind of aerobics, anyways.”

          Martha's other eyebrow shot up. “You're literally always thinking about sex, aren't you?”

          “Nah,” Clara replied  lightly . “Just wordplay; innuendo. I'm a regular old Shakespeare, after all.

          Martha snorted and rolled her eyes, but there was fondness in it. “You've already thoroughly deflowered me, I'm afraid,”  she informed Clara, who laughed.

          “That I have. Right then, no sex. What do you propose?”

          Martha grinned wickedly. “A compromise,” she said, backing Clara up against the nearest post of her bed. Clara grinned.

          “A compromise sounds good to me,” she said, standing on tiptoe press a light kiss to Martha's nose. Martha took Clara's face in her hands and brought Clara's mouth to meet hers. Clara felt the familiar surge in her, less like fireworks and more like lightning up her spine, reverberating in her ribcage and just barely missing burning her heart to a crisp – it was a miracle each time it didn't, honestly. Clara hummed into the kiss, bringing her hands up to Martha's shoulders; they were still tense, and she slid one hand down slightly to work at the muscle of Martha's shoulder-blade with her fingertips. Martha pressed against her, pushing Clara up against the post so that the woodwork was digging into her back, and Clara spun them around, pushing Martha down so she was sitting on the bed, Clara straddling her lap. Clara kissed down the hollow of Martha's throat, and Martha's breath hitched.

          “God, I love you,” Martha said, and Clara leaned to press a kiss to the spot just below Martha's ear where her jaw met her neck.

          “I love you, too,” she breathed, and Martha pulled her back up by her chin so they were kissing again.

          A knock at the door startled them both and they pulled apart; Clara steadied herself by holding on to Martha's shoulders, scared she'd fall off the edge of the bed.

          “ Clara?” The sound of Osgood's voice rang only slightly muffled through the thick door. “I don't – want in on whatever it is you're doing, but I kind of left my Herbology textbook in there – can you let me in for a sec?”

          “Coming!” Clara called out, lifting herself off Martha's lap. She went to the door and muttered a quick, wandless  _alohamora_ , then twisted the knob and pulled the door open a crack. Osgood peeked in, her face tinged pink.   


          “Everyone decent?”

          “We really were studying,” Clara told her, swinging the door open to let Osgood in. Clara's dorm-mate nodded a quick hello at Martha and went, eyes on her feet the whole time, to the trunk at the end of her own bed, pulling a battered green book from it before rushing off and shutting the door behind her.

          “Dear God,” Clara said,  sitting down next to Martha on the bed. “What do kids these days think studying  _means_ ?”

          Martha rolled her eyes. “Loathe as I am to admit it, we should probably get back to our actual studying.”

          “Don't healers have to know anatomy as well as doctors do?”

          “We have been over this,” Martha said, picking up her textbook and settling back into her reading position.

          “Fine,” Clara whined. She picked up her own book, flipping through it until she found her spot. The futhorc was still untranslatable. She picked up her wand where it lay on her little bedside table and muttered  _lingua ostende_ , performing the simple hand motion required of the spell. The letters on the page before her transformed themselves slowly into the English alphabet.

          “You're kidding me,” she said. “It's an incantation for baiting a fishhook.  _This_ is what I was trying to translate for half an hour?”

          Martha looked up at her. “You are a fishmonger,” she said, deadpan.

          Clara threw her wand at her.


End file.
